Jailbirds
by NotebookChen
Summary: Thirteen people heard the gavel. The reasons for their being there varied as vastly as mental illnesses to murders. Some were innocent. Some were not. There they all went. Hafaris. P.r.i.s.i.o.n. Contest details inside: Pick a pairing.
1. BANG!

_BANG!_

The noise ran out, but it still echoed in his ears. Then came the voice. He wasn't ready for the voice- his ears were still catching up to the bang, but the voice came nonetheless."Six years, no parole, Hafaris medium security prison."

For a few moments, there was nothing except silence and disbelief. No. _No._

"...No..."

How could it end up this way? Courts were supposed to straiten things out- why was he found guilty?

-

_BANG!_

His look hadn't changed between the few seconds before and after the gavel sounded. Not like most people.

"..."

"You should have known better. Four years, Hafaris medium security prison."

"Hafaris?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

-

_BANG!_

"NO! I SAID NO, DAMNIT! WHAT'S GOING ON? NO! _NO!_ TAKE THAT BACK!"

"The jury has spoken. Guilty." For good measure and his own form of personal punishment, the judge hit the hammer again. _BANG!_ "Three years, Hafaris medium security prison."

For the first time the whole trial, the defendant was speechless.

-

_BANG!_

"Hafaris medium security prison. Two years for your ...persistence on the subject shown on your record."

"Hah- what a nice way to put it. You're a good kid, Mr. Law-Man-Guy."

-

_BANG!_

"The jury has spoken. Five years inside Hafaris medium security prison. Any last words?"

"You're lucky you caught me."

-

_BANG! _

Guilty, huh? Surprising...-he thought sarcastically.

"The court finds the defendant guilty of all charges. Eight years Hafaris medium security prison."

Damn lawyer. "When I get out, I'm going right back into the game. Don't think you can silence me."

"If you say so."

-

_BANG!_

He flinched.

"Seven years Hafaris medium security prison, no parole."

"..."

What was next was inaudible to all ears sans those of the speaker. "...thank you."

-

_BANG!_

What was the point of a gavel anyways? Is is meant to intimidate people?

"Fifteen years in the medium security prison of Hafaris; more if you don't show good behavior."

"Judge- I have your name. No use in prayers now, don't even bother. I tried to keep under the radar, but with you, I don't care _who _would see me if the chance ever arose to silence you."

"..."

-

_BANG!_

"Thirty years no parole. Hafaris prison."

"Thirty years, Judge? Seems a bit excessive if I do say so myself. And also- you're trying too hard. Tone it down a bit, would you? China's ears hurt from the echo of that pound."

"Escort the defendant out of my courtroom." The judge started to pack up, turning his head from the now frustrated defendant.

"HEY!" he shouted. He got the judge's attention. He smiled. Chuckled. "See you soon."

-

_BANG!_

He winced.

"Life term. Hafaris medium security prison. No parole."

"A- are you sure? I mean..." the defendant couldn't meet the judge's eyes. "I'm pretty sure that you should maybe recons- re- reconsider..."

"Life term."

-

_BANG!_

"The court finds the defendant guilty. Five years Hafaris medium security prison."

He knew it was wrong. He knew it went against his whole argument that he was a good person, but he wanted to do it again. He reached out. Someone held him back before he could make contact with anything.

"God help me."

-

_BANG!_

"You will spend two life terms in Hafaris medium security prison, at your request of a lesser prison on an admittance of your guilt."

He scoffed. Must everything sound so government oriented and _official?_

-

_BANG!_

"Hafaris. A medium security prison, for your cooperation. A life term, for your crime."

The defendant sighed and brushed his hair back. For the first time all trial, he looked into the eyes of the Judge. He was never once scared, before he had only looking around out of boredom. Now he wanted to leave an impression.

"I'll get by."

-

Have you ever noticed how the beginnings of prison movies all start out at the trial? Its because _there_ is the beginning. It doesn't matter what you did to get there; that's the prologue. The beginning of the end is when you hear the _BANG!_ of what someone decides is your fate. One day, thirteen people will have heard the gavel. The reasons for their being there varied as vastly as mental illnesses not picked up on to murders of vast numbers of people. A few were innocent. A few deserved more than they got. There they all went.

Out with a-

_BANG!_

---

_**Author's Notes: CONTEST**_

_Can you guess who each criminal is in order? Contest will go on even as the chapters continue, so no worries. First person to do so will be able to choose a pairing. The criminals are as follows, in alphabetical order by their (popular) names: Butters, Cartman, Christophe, Clyde, Craig, Damien, Gregory, Kenny, Kyle, Pip, Red Goth, Stan, and Tweek._

_Also, I guessed at the sentences. Sorry; my internet was down._


	2. The Bus Ride

Kenny was unlike everyone else on the bus. He knew it, too. He could tell. As far as he could see, of the other twelve people, none of them looked to be here for the same crime as him. Well, maybe the girlish looking blonde with the hat, but he looked too shy to have done what Kenny was in for.

Kenny was different in another way, too. He was the only one of them who had already been in prison before. Obviously he couldn't have known this, but he sensed it. Too many of them were acting like newbies.

For one, no one was talking. That meant they were intimidated or trying to intimidate. If they'd been to prison, they would know how pointless the bus ride there had been.

For another thing, everyone seemed to be keeping their distance. If you knew the routine, you knew to quickly make a friend here and stick to them. Hafaris in particular liked to wait until there was a total of fourteen people to make up a section before allowing people in. That meant that everyone on the bus would know each other by being in the same wing until they got out. If you stuck to people, you would be lumped in the same cell as them. Since there were only thirteen here, someone must have gotten to their wing early, or was the last left from a previous bus ride over. Someone who would at least know their way around. Maybe Kenny could room with that person. But what fun would that be?

He scanned the crowd. He couldn't make out who exactly was innocent, because sometimes they act like people who were upset they got caught, but he could tell for sure those of them who had been caught for some pretty tough crimes.

The guy in the seat behind him looked rather upset to be here. He was angrily looking out the window and mumbling something about it being all someone else's fault. How if that someone else had just taken the damn bribe he wouldn't be in this mess. Too much work, Kenny thought.

Three other people seemed to be just brooding. Three looked lividly upset. Three looked absolutely miserable. One was sleeping. One was just looking out the window.

"Him." Kenny decided. The one that was sightseeing. He would be the most interesting to room with. When the guard wasn't looking, he plopped himself into the seat in front of the black and red haired man and looked over the back at him.

"What'er ya in for, Mac?" Kenny laughed at his own joke.

The sightseer turned slowly to face him. He took Kenny in. "How stereotypical."

"I know. That's why I laughed. Joke, get it? Calm down, kid."

He rose an eyebrow. "Kid?"

"I call everyone Kid, Kid- no offense." Kenny rose his hands up like he was caught.

The noirette/redhead smirked. "You don't seem to be upset you're here. What happened?"

"Prostitution. The name's Kenny McCormick. You?"

"That's a little personal."

This time, Kenny smirked. "How stereotypical of you." When he saw the anger flash, he added, "If you stick near me, we'll be roomed together. I'll have at least two years to get to know you. May as well start out now."

He seemed to think that over. Did he want to make a friend in prison so quickly? Yes. That would be out of the ordinary. Nonconformist. "Assisted suicide."

"Rough."

"Yeah..."

Kenny looked at him, trying to look through him. The guy seemed truthfully upset to be here. That meant that there was a good probability he was an okay guy. "What's your name, Kid?"

That brought him back. "Tsh- people usually just make up a name for me. I went a whole high school career as Red Goth."

"You want me to call you that?"

"Not particularly. Just call me what you want to."

Kenny thought about that for a moment. "What's your real name?"

"Dylan."

"I'll call you Kid, then."

Kid laughed.

-

Damien overheard the one who introduced himself as Kenny. Who didn't? Him and the other one were the only ones making noise. Knowing now he would be roomed with whom he was near, Damien switched seats next to the black haired person sleeping in the back, figuring that of any of them, he would be the least likely to report him for doing anything Damien would inevitably do wrong.

-

"So... Kid," Kenny said. "What do you think of the rest of the folks here?"

Kid looked around for a few seconds on each other person. "They're okay, I guess."

By now, Kenny had claimed the seat next to Kid, instead of the one in front of him. He snorted. "How sweet."

"What do you mean by _that_?"

Kenny smiled innocently. "Just that I don't think I could look at everyone here and dub the lot of them 'okay'."

For example, the fatass that was sneaking up on a poor guy who was rubbing his knuckles together drasticly.

Kenny turned to Kid- "Be right back.", who nodded and went back to looking out the window.

Making his way over, Kenny assessed the situation. The nervous guy was obviously going to be the odd man out, if not the shaking lunatic a few seats up, but rooming alone would be better than rooming with _that_ guy, right?

"Hey Kid!" Kenny spoke loudly, making a mental note to reserve the nickname for Dylan. "Blondie!" Still no response. He stole the seat next to the poor guy, cutting off the scowling brunette who in turn waddled his way up to mumbling man Kenny saw earlier. "You should be more careful. That Trent Boyett was about to getch'ya."

"Wh-who?"

That's when Kenny realized he knew _way_ more about prison than anyone else would ever want to know. "Trent Boyett. It's the nickname for anyone in prison who gives you trouble."

No response. Damn, was this kid slow or something?

"You know what?" Kenny started. He looked at the seats directly around them. "Here." He grabbed the blonde's wrist and pulled him into a seat with someone pinching the bridge of his nose. "This one looks fine. You don't leave his side now, got it Blondie?" He nodded. The guy Kenny forced him upon looked up expectantly.

"What the hell?"

Kenny stuck his tongue out. It was such a childish retort that no one could come up with anything else to say.

When he made his way back to Kid, he took a moment to figure out the room mates. If nothing changed, it looked like it would be himself and Kid, fatass and bribemumbler, two blackhairs, Blondie and headacheman, the shaking mess and a redhead, another blonde and a man with dark brown bushy eyebrows and finally, the odd man out- a blonde desperately trying to hide under his hat.

"Good turnout this year, huh?" he asked Kid.

Kid grunted a mumble, and Kenny laughed.

-

_**Author's Comments**_

_I hope you guys at least figured out which one is Kenny in the contest. I tried my best to at least give one, maybe two away. Don't be worried about who rooms with whom, either- because its all subject to change. (actually, I have planned out the changes already)_


	3. Hated

It turns out that the wing the new convicts would be going to was an experimental one. Hafaris management was trying a new guard system. There would be less guards around the perimeters of the hallways, which people were thankful for, but now each person in the wing would have what was going to be called "Guidance". The last cell on the left would be split, able now to house only one. In their case, Pip. A wall was put up of solid re-enforced concrete (like Pip would do anything about it...) and on the other side was the office for the wing's Guidance. Because Guidance was such a new thing, they were given the most easygoing councilor available, to test things out. Almost a pushover, he was. With Clyde's smooth learned-it-from-his-shoe-salesman-father talking to, his cell got the most toilet paper. Cartman smirked at his good choice in room mate. Their councilor's name was Mr. Mackey. Upon hearing this, Kenny laughed for a long two minutes. Now everyone calls the guy "Mac".

They weren't even a day in when things started to disappear. Nothing major; plastic forks, screws and bolts, the saltshakers, tears of their uniform orange clothing, chips of mirrors, the occasional bread roll. With nothing better to do, people started wondering where it all went. Some (who listened to Kenny) thought it was the ghost of Trent Boyett. Most thought it was the guards playing tricks on them. A few blatantly accused one another with shouts and even snarls. The shouts and snarls made a few of them cower or freak out, which pissed off their cellmates. Pissed off cellmates that snapped at other cellmates. It was a bad start, really.

The worst of it all was what the wing called "The Foreign Cell", which housed a French and an English accent. (Both legitimate U.S citizens, but that didn't stop people from calling them illegal aliens.) (The word alien make Tweek unbearable to deal with. People stopped calling them illegal aliens.) Somehow, they had discovered the one thing about the other that would drive them crazy. Not an hour passed without an argument over God drifting into people's ears from behind the cell bars. Not a religious argument that one would think, either. It wasn't the kind between an atheist and a committed religious person, or a fight between a Christian and a Jew- no, that would be too simple. They fought over the _kindness_ of God, which was ridiculous and drove everyone who didn't care but still was forced to listen crazy. Crazier than when they were just pissed off. A _really _bad start.

Cartman (as he told people right away to call him), liking to think he was above the sanity- took to studying everyone around him. He picked up on little habits. The one called Butters was naive. He did some weird things with his knuckles when he was upset. Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. The creep, Damien, was a Satanist on Christophe's side, and even through his tough exterior, Cartman noticed he was almost panicky when left alone- a fact kept in the front of his mind. Kyle, who caught Cartman's interest by the noticeable way he tried _very _hard to stay out of the religious conversations, hated his cellmate, Tweek, who was batshit insane, and constantly looked for the video cameras on the way to the cafeteria, in the Rec room, at night, etc. And although he didn't know his real name, like Tweek, Butters (he forgot it), or (though he later found out it _was _his real name,) Pip- the one everyone now called Kid had the habit of constantly rearranging where his hair settled on his head. And finally, because it was _impossible _to ignore, he found out what his new "rommie" was here for.

"It's all her fucking fault. If she hadn't gone and..."

Cartman sighed. "What the fuck is it now, Clyde?" Yeah, _Clyde_. I know, what a douche name, right? But so far of his observations, Clyde was the sliest, besides himself of course. If he could stay on Clyde's good side without ripping his hair out, he could be of use. Of course, Clyde would have to learn to keep up his side of a near friendship by learning when to _shut the fuck up._

"Just angry. God damn low life pissy ...fucking ...assface ...she-witch..." Sly. Not necessarily smart. Probably the combination that got him sent here.

Sighing again, Cartman closed his eyes and focused all his energy on soothing his voice to a somewhat acceptable tone. "Who, Clyde?" There weren't females around here. Not even guards.

"Just some retard that was too "morally conscious" to see what a good deal I was offering her. She turned me in- the BITCH."

Clyde looked like he was about to start a rant; which would make the third Cartman had suffered through, before he was quite literally saved by the bell.

_BZRRRRT._

The noises in the big house were not pleasant ones. The breakfast bell today felt like a blessing.

It was the second day of their incarceration. The second breakfast. That meant everyone knew somewhat what to do, but most didn't know yet the way to the Cafeteria. Everyone would eventually know the route by heart. Would be able to walk it in their sleeps, if leaving the cell after hours was allowed.

Even though all of the other people in jail were able to roam and sit with whom they liked, the experimental wing was kept to the same table during meals. Some actively protested this until it became clear there would be no moving. Most didn't care; were still catching up to the fact they were here to begin with. A few were even happy about the assigned seats, so they didn't have to find people to be next to.

The wing couldn't leave the table, but they could move from seat to seat within it. With Kenny and Kid across from the other in the deadset middle, people like Damien went to the right and people like Butters went to the left. Kid was in the middle because he refused to pick sides. Kenny was in the middle so he could talk to _everyone_. Stan and Gregory chose the more "refined" left. Craig was at the right end where no one would try to talk to him. Because of their uneven numbers, there was a seat left open on the right side; if anyone ever wanted to claim it, it was theirs for the taking, but it had that aura around it that made it feel the spot had to be earned.

Breakfast was the meal of whatever you could get. You were guaranteed the thing you dove for first. You most of the time got another thing if you got in line quick enough. You were lucky to get a third thing. Breakfast choices were two different (yet equally bland choices of) cereal, undercooked eggs, toast with butter, or half a bagel with cream cheese. The drink line housed coffee, milk, orange and apple juice. Then after a while, the cafeteria workers would put out jello cups and yogurt. Everyone could get a yogurt, but you had to be quick to get a jello cup.

In show of the dominance system, Cartman scarfed down eggs, a bagel, orange juice, and _two _(stolen) jello cups, while Tweek sat meekly with his two cups of coffee and Butters sat with toast, no drink, and what was left of cereal crumbs from the bottom of the machine that spit them out. A lot of things change when you get to prison, but almost nothing changes when you're in it. Coffee was all Tweek ever got. Butters always dashed for toast, sometimes something else. Cartman was always in possession of a jello cup. Routine.

But today was their second day and no one knew any of that yet. All they knew was that the stuttery guy slathered on enough butter to make his toast soggy, and (being so left of the table) received his nickname with little complaint. In time, no one but Butters himself would remember the name Leopold. Even Mac will have post-it note covered the name on his file with Butters so as to remember who the folder belonged to.

No one knew the paranoid guy's name. He flat out refused to give it. If anyone knew, it was Mac. He had all their files, but he wouldn't tell on account of that doctor/patient confidentiality rule. Not even his _name._ I'm not sure who was the one to suggest it (I am only now starting to become familiar with everyone), but the twitchy spaz was now called Tweek, because he looked like he was goddamn tweaking all the time- on _drugs_. Which he assured us he didn't take, and proceeded to list off a thousand and one different things that could go wrong if you took drugs, prescription or otherwise. I kinda really badly want to find out Tweek's name. When there's nothing to do, you make your own fun, and what better than to try and solve the mystery of someone's name? Or better yet, who was here, and why? Where were all the little missing things ending up?

"So who here wants to give me their eggs? Hmm? Anyone?" Kenny was pretty much the only voice of the table. The right was whispering, but other than that, it was all Kenny. "I'll give someone my fish at lunch if someone gives me their eggs now."

"I guess that's fair." said Kyle.

"What the hell? You think that's a fair trade, Kahl? No wonder you're with the freaks, you're so retarded."

Kyle's hands balled up under the table. Only Kenny saw, but he he didn't do anything. "What's so bad about fish?" Kyle asked, restraining himself.

"Nothing, nothing- its just that it's what the Catholics eat."

"Hey fucktard,_ I'm_ Catholic." said Clyde.

"As am I," agreed Gregory in his most annoyed tone.

"Aw, weak, dude. I share a cell with a _Catholic_." Cartman said, spitting the word out like poison. "What are the rest of you? So I know who to avoid like the plague?"

"Fuck God," said Christophe.

"Ditto to that." Craig agreed, speaking the first time in a long time. His voice was nasally.

"I'm Christian." Stan said.

Cartman sighed in anger. "FINALLY."

Eyes kept looking around.

"_urk..._ C- christian..." Cartman nodded, agreeing with Tweek's religion though not necessarily with Tweek.

"I was raised Presbyterian." Pip smiled.

"Buddhist! NO, wait- Muslim! What sounds more exotic?" asked Kenny. He was ignored.

"I'm sure you all must know what I believe." Damien stated simply. Under his breath, he mumbled "it's why I'm here."

"Well uh... gee... I don't want to annoy you or nothin, Cartman, but I'm... I'm Catholic."

"Good! We need more of those." said person spat sarcastically.

"Stop this Cartman! You can't judge people on how they were raised! What if Butters didn't _want_ to tell people his religion? You shouldn't have forced him to answer!"

"I didn't force nothing! Butters _told me,_ you god damned- ...what are you?"

"I'm KYLE. A _PERSON_. I happen to be JEWISH. Is there a _problem_?" The redhead stood up from the table. No wonder he had avoided Christophe and Gregory's arguments, he was touchy on the subject.

Cartman stood up too. "I should have known! You're the most good-for-nothing person in here, I should have known you'd be a filthy Jew!"

"Don't belittle my religion, you overweight slug of a poor excuse for a human! You've never even _talked_ to me before, how could you have come to the conclusion I'm so horrible?"

"I could smell the Jew on you, subconsciously!"

"What a racist thing to say, you Nazi!"

"Thanks for the complement, Jew!"

"Deism."

For a moment, everything stopped. Kyle turned to the voice. It was Kid. He sat there with a bored expression (though not as bored as Craig, who appeared to ignore the lot of them by pretending to sleep) and flicked his hair back with a turn of his neck. And then, because real life doesn't stop with such interruptions, everything clicked back into motion. But not until after the look of gratitude passed through Kyle's eyes.

"You see? Kid is religiously tolerant! He believes in the fact there is a God, and not specifically anything else! We should all strive to think as open minded as him!"

"You'd give up your _demonic_ religion to be like _that_ fag?"

"There are SO MANY things wrong with that statement! Judaism isn't the demonic religion, that's Damien's realm! And I'm saying we should learn that about Damien and be accepting of it!" Kyle stomped over to Damien and pulled him out of his chair by the wrist to stand behind Kyle. Damien looked pissed but didn't complain. "Besides, Kid isn't the fag! If it's anyone, _you _are, with your dire need for attention!"

Cartman copied Kyle and pulled Stan up. He started walking over to Tweek. "Oh, right- _I'm_ the fag! I'm sure we all know who here is the real cocksucker, _Kahl_." He grabbed the tag of Tweek's orange jacket and pulled him into a stand by the neck, gathering up the Christians with a squeak. "Jews can't help it! Its in their blood! Which should be _spilled,_ by the way! Damien! Don't stand near him! You'd want to spill his blood, right?"

Kyle wouldn't let go of Damien's wrist, but he hadn't made a move to leave anyway. After all, Kyle was the first of them to show any defending emotion towards Damien, a feeling he'd never had experience with. "_No_! You! Stan, No-name! Why would you agree to be on the side of that Nazi?"

"I didn't agree to anything!" Stan protested. Tweek just squirmed.

"Oh, _shut up_." said Clyde. "You're worse than the foreign cell."

"Oh, like you're to talk- _Clyde_. That's all _you_ ever do; talk!" Started Cartman.

"You've talked more today than _I _have!" the brunette shouted back.

By now, the guards had been alerted of the five standing and shouting people at the experimental wing's table. If it had been any other table, they would have known what to do, but because it was _the experimental group_, they had to call in to who was in charge to get instructions on how to handle the problem.

Mac came up from behind Cartman, startling Tweek. Seven guards had come to each carry two people away. "We're all going to take a break now, mkay? Guidance. All of you, mkay?"

Some of them nodded. Some didn't even bother. It wasn't as if they'd had a choice.

-

Tweek _refused_ to go to Guidance, not that it ever worked. Who could blame him? The councilor was 'scary'. Before even Tweek had met him, he was sure of it. Anyone named Mac was trouble. _After_ meeting him, his fears were confirmed. If the guy said "Mkay" one more time he was going to detonate something. Trigger some sort of voice-activated alarm. Set something off. Set... _someone_ off? Oh Jesus, one of the other people in the wing was going to be upset after a session with Mac, and they'd take it out on _Tweek._

"_Eeeepk._" He fidgeted.

We were on their way back to their wing, being _escorted _by guards. Kyle, who was usually annoyed at Tweek's outbursts, made a point to try and calm him down. To be tolerant.

On the rare occasion that we were all calm (or pissed) enough for a "Group Rehab", we would all ditch our Guidance visit for the week and get a peak in on how our wing was doing mentally. Group Rehab had very little to do with accomplishing anything, although that might have been Mac's fault. Today was our introduction to Group Rehab.

"Mkay... I want you to all close your eyes and..." Mac started reading out of a book. "Take a look back on your inner child's security blanket, mkay?"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Mac?" Asked Cartman, still angry.

"You're all going to try to remember something you loved to go to when you were upset as a kid, mkay?" Kid rolled his eyes. "Let's start with you, Leopold."

"Who? Oh, that's _Butters_, Mac." Mac didn't know if the nickname came from Butters himself or not, but in case he would cooperate more, he played along.

"Butters? What was your security blanket?"

"This is messed up." mumbled Clyde, which earned a very eager "Shut up" from a still-pissed Cartman.

"My mom." Butters admitted. Some people laughed.

"Mkay, that's good, Butters. Pip?"

"Some old photographs," voiced Pip.

"Oh? Of what?"

"England, My mom..." Gregory perked up. They would talk about this later.

"Alright, people better stop it with the whole mom thing."

Mac waved the voice off. "Explain to me why you went to photographs of your mom instead of your mom, Pip-mkaaay? Were there family problems?"

"I was an orphan." he said. That divided the group into "don't care" and "aww you poor thing".

"Alright Pip, you don't have to say anymore." The short cherubic blonde sighed as if in relief. "Kenny? What did you go to?"

"Booze." he laughed. Mac ignored him and moved along.

"Kyle?"

"Oh great, here comes the Jewfest. Probably some gold or a potato pancake."

"Mac, I don't think this is a healthy environment for me."

Kenny leaned into Kyle. "That's Jail for you, hon."

"Just answer the question, mkay Kyle?"

He considered this, not wanting to get in more trouble. "I don't think I _went_ to anything specifically, but I used to always wear this one green hat practically every day. Does that count?"

"Hey, I used to be the same," Stan smiled. "Blue hat. Yellow poofball. She was a 'beut."

"That's good, good... we've found a common interest. Who else here had a favorite item of clothing?"

"I still wear the same hat I was found in," continued Pip.

"I've worn this same orange since before I can remember." Kenny added, pulling at his pants.

Craig mumbled something about a blue hat that was good at hiding his eyes. Kid flicked his hair in front of his face. Even Cartman admitted he used to be fond of a blue hat of his own.

"Good."

That was one of those days where everyone was quiet until the next morning.

-

They'd settled into the routine by now. Get up around some time. Or don't, if you didn't care. Eat breakfast. Do nothing for a while. Eat lunch (early, for some reason). Rec time, or as Kenny called it, Recess. Either do some more nothing then go to Guidance or go to Guidance and then do some more nothing (alternating schedules). Eat dinner. Nothing again. Sleep, if you can.

If possible, things got more heated as the impact of Jail hit them. Gregory and Christophe, Kyle and Cartman were unbearable.

The uniforms were boring and bland. You got shoes (no laces to hang yourself with), two pairs of underwear, pants, a white tank top and an orange coat-substitute. Kenny was fond of skipping the jacket and even going out during Rec in the freezing Colorado weather with only that thin white shirt. Kid was the opposite. He rarely wore anything underneath, but was never seen without buttoning the jacket up to what was almost thought to be an uncomfortably high point on the neck. Eventually, Kenny gave Kid his unused jacket and Kid gave his worn-once tank top. Kid kept to wearing the jacket Kenny gave him, when it wasn't too dirty, because he favored the longer sleeves. On really cold days, Kenny wore the tighter fitting tank to retain more body heat, though that isn't to say he wasn't unusually fond of tight clothing and wore the damn thing nearly all the time. Eventually everyone got a second outfit, to wear when one was in the wash. They traded those too.

It was one day, when Kenny was watching (for no other reason than there was nothing to do) Kid change, that he asked.

No one usually changed clothes outside of the locker rooms, but Kid had spilled pudding on his jacket and when they got back to the cell he planned to change into a clean one. Actually, it was more like Kid was _hurled_ pudding at, but that was besides the point and not even a story worth telling, because it contained Cartman. Kenny had gotten particularly curious about why Kid always wore long sleeves.

He was on his top bunk and Kid was sitting on the bottom about to change. The blonde leaned upside down to watch him.

"Umm... do you mind?"

"Kid? Do you cut?"

To be fair, the guy was minding his own business when a head popped down to watch him strip and asked him a question he hadn't been familiar with for maybe about a year now. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Let me see your wrists."

"You've got two perfectly good ones, look at your own. I've never been _emo_ if that's what you're thinking. _Goth,_" he stressed. Despite his defiance and to prove his point, Kid took his arm out of a sleeve he had been just about halfway into and let himself be examined by Kenny.

"Just checking." he said when he finished.

They weren't the only cell to be having troubles, either. It wasn't as if you _start out_ trusting someone in a place like this.

Damien started to despise Craig. No one knew why. Cartman suspected that Damien felt too alone with only someone who just slept all day, but he didn't say anything- keeping the information to himself in case he could one day use it to his advantage.

Cartman and Clyde got back on okay terms, because Cartman now had his Jew to pester. They could never get back to that near-friendship of before.

Tweek kept Kyle up at night.

Stan just wanted Butters to leave him alone and stop asking "What's wrong?" ever four minutes.

No one knew how Pip was doing.

Gregory and Christophe weren't even on speaking terms, which was fine for the rest of them.

Prison had hit. And it packed a punch.

-

Most people don't know the exact moment things start to go wrong for them.

Gregory did.

For Gregory, it was the moment he didn't immediately decline a certain job.

He had felt it in his bones. That's how deep the feeling went. He was offered, and then his _bones_ knew before his _brain_ did that he had taken an inordinate amount of time to answer. Maybe it was simply curiosity, Gregory didn't know. He declined the job, still having most of his normal whit and not too far down the wrong track yet, but he knew he had started his decline. Gregory spent an entire three days going over the situation in his head. Before, he had only ever accepted jobs that were for the good of something. Catch a bail-jumper. Steal back paintings someone stole. _This_ job was to gather some shady files for an organization he knew wasn't up to any good-for-somethings. It was a low-paying job so (they didn't have to trust him, and) it wasn't a very important one, which meant the files couldn't be that bad. Good chance they weren't bad at all. But Gregory didn't like the taste of considering such employers, which kept him thinking on the subject. Why wouldn't he have declined with his usual quickness? And because he kept going over the matter in his mind, he eventually justified himself. Once you justify something like that, it's hard to _entirely_ frown upon such acts. From that point on, he started to convince himself to take on lower moral jobs. Then it came down to this. Jail. For being the ringleader of... well, I'll let the man finish up his own story.

"What _specifically _are you here for?" someone questioned. It was Group Rehab, and Gregory, in his slicked back hair and fierce ice eyes, eventually became the life in question. Mac said he hadn't had to tell his story if he didn't want to, but Gregory was willing.

"Sending my men out to a vault- that _wasn't _for the good."

There seemed to be a feeling in the air no one could place. The silence wasn't awkward, but it was definitely unsettling. Until, that is, someone else of the group, someone no one saw coming, put two and two together. Kyle Broflovski opened his mouth and all eyes turned to him. "Gregory, this is going to sound kind of weird, but... do the words 'La Resistance' mean anything to you?"

"They mean to me," Christophe offered, "I mean- they're French. I know them."

But Gregory barely registered the comment. He had gone pale faced, which was remarkable not that someone could make him pale, but more that the guy had any pigment left to lose. Gregory was sure, _sure,_ that the police hadn't come up with their name. That the media didn't print anything. How did someone like Kyle know him? "Who...?" He seemed at a loss for words. "Who are you?"

Kyle smiled. "Knew it. I knew it."

"Knew what?" asked Cartman, impatient.

But Kyle didn't even seem to remember they were in company, or that he'd already met the blonde before him. "I guess it's nice to finally meet you, Gregory. I'm Kyle, but I'm also Caybe."

"That sounds so girly," Clyde stated.

Gregory didn't know what to do. Caybe? No one had ever seen Caybe. Only ever saw Caybe's E-signature. But Kyle was Caybe and Kyle knew about Gregory.

"We will talk about this later. In private."

"Sure thing, Gregory." Kyle smirked, with the upper hand. "What luck."

-

-

-

_**Author's Notes:**_

_There you go. A big heaping pile of Not-Plot; my specialty. I'm sorry this jumped around so often, I'm in a rush to finish homework that piled up. And wow, what answers you all give. So varied. I want you to keep in mind why people are here. If Kid killed someone, he would get a life term. That narrows it down. Also, there's no need to wait until the next chapter to give your next guess. Just PM me._

_(You should at least have three solid answers by now. More if you were paying attention.)_

_Also, I'm vaguely sure it's Catholics that eat fish on Christmas, but please let me know if I'm wrong- I was raised a mix of Judaism and Presbyterian, so I have absolutely no idea._


End file.
